


Water and Light

by tangerine (arte)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:51:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arte/pseuds/tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal and what they feel about each other after the fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Side W

There are days when you want to dissolve like water. It's nothing new. Life has always been light and air and color to you. You're outside looking in as the colors rush into your mind. The tide is bright and it takes your own palid sand away with it, receding, even more bright, but you're used to things washing away. It doesn't feel like you're being washed away when you're water.

It's hard to be water when your limbs feel defined under Hannibal's touch, his eyes mapping the boundaries of your body, his voice craddling yours from falling. The air and color and light stay inside you now, because you're not water.

It's hard, feeling solid. Because now you can be torn, you can be broken. When he recedes, careless that you're not water anymore, he would take a piece of you with him, never to be filled again.

Sometimes, you can feel your edge too clearly. When you want to dissolve like water, you seek him, burrow into his heat. Hannibal has always been solid.

It means his pieces can be taken. Every kiss, every touch, every burning confession. You take because you can't be washed away anymore, because now you have to fill the space by staying and he has your pieces.

His hand is on your head, stroking, soft. You can outline every single strand of your hair curled around his fingers, how it rises and falls. You sleep, held in his arms.


	2. Side H

There are days when you have to deem the light. Life is beautiful, but there are ugly blights. You remove what you can, repaint and reorder, but some tar is more tenacious than others. When all else fails, you deem the light, brighten it in some other place. The holes in the floor become beautiful negative space that you can stand.

It's hard to deem the light when Will is in your sight. You want to see everything, the way his eyes change their colors, the way his hand plays around the edge of a knife, the way his mind branches and connects and ensnares.

You're flooded in light. The veil of shadow is torn and the ugliness stabs you when you can't turn your eyes away. Will brightens places where he shouldn't, careless because he knows he would never be denied. 

Light burns your fingers. The notes you play are dissonant. You try to deem the light, but then he comes, hugs you from behind, kisses you softly. You ache all over, but everything is beautiful because he's here.

He's sleeping in your arms, his heartbeat like a heavenly drum. You turn on the light.


End file.
